a far lighter burden than any steed pursuing him.
Taking a deep breath to steady her sudden flurry of nerves, Aimil lowered herself out of the window. She was not afraid of the descent for she and Leith had come down as great if not greater heights. They had, however, used a proper rope. They had also not been trying to escape an enemy. She saw now that it had proven good practice.
Steadily and slowly, she went down the wall, using her feet against the stone. There was a strong wind, and she grit her teeth as she fought its jostling. Although the wind failed to dislodge her as she neared the end of her descent, it did succeed in stealing the bonnet, which she had forgotten to secure as strongly as she had her first one. To further aggravate her, she discovered she was short of rope. A measuring glance told her she could easily fall onto Elfking’s back, however, and, readying herself, she whistled for her mount.
Parlan glared at the horse that had unseated him again. He tried to ignore the badly stifled laughter of the men as he watched the horse rise gracefully and shake the dust from his fine coat. Slowly getting to his feet, Parlan brushed himself off and finally gave a reluctant grin.
“Now I ken what the laddie found so funny.” He walked around the animal and studied him as the adversary he was. “The question is how to break him of the trick or, at least, of playing it on me.”
“Aye, ’tis a useful trick. Ye would never have to worry about the beast being stolen,” jested Lagan.
A soft laugh escaped Parlan as he took Elfking’s reins. “Mayhaps if I tempt him with a good run. It has been a long time since he has had one.”
Lagan followed Parlan and the horse as did Malcolm and several other curious men. Elfking went along calmly until Parlan tried to lead him through the gates. The horse then stood firmly, refusing to leave the keep, no matter how much he was pulled, pushed, or cursed.
“Curse this stubborn beast to Hades! What ails the fool animal?”
“Mayhaps a touch of the whip will move the beast,” suggested one man.
“Nay, I willnae take a whip to the beast and chance marring this fine coat.”
Malcolm moved closer to his exasperated laird’s side. “I ken the beast be following the laddie’s orders.”
“How so? The lad isnae here to give any.”
“Nay, but, when we brought the lads in, the horse tried to follow me and the wee laddie into the keep. The wee laddie told him to stay.”
Shaking his head, Parlan laughed. “And staying is just what he is doing, curse his fine hide.”
“Mayhaps ye ought to give up on trying to keep the horse.”
“Nay, Lagan. I must think of a way to win the beast to my hand. I may have to get the lad to help,” Parlan mused aloud.
“He willnae. T’was plain to see the lad’s fond of his horse,” protested Malcolm.
“Ye ask the right way and the lad will do it,” Parlan said grimly. “He is fond of his brother too.”
“Aye, but ye willnae do aught to the lad.”
“We ken that, Lagan, but I suspicion the wee laddie willnae be too sure of it. ’Tis no secret that many a dark tale is told about me. Dinnae ye ken that I roast and eat bairns and pick my teeth with their wee bones?” He grinned fleetingly over such nonsense, long since inured to any sting it might have inflicted. “Aye, I willnae do aught to the lad, but that wee laddie can be made to believe I will.”
“Seems cruel to deprive a wee lad of his horse,” muttered Malcolm.
“In this instance I will gladly live up to my sordid reputation. Malcolm, how can ye ask me to release such a prize? I can sense that the beast has speed and strength. Aye, he has wit as weel. If naught else, think of the stock he will breed. I have several mares already in mind for him to jump.”
“Aye.” Malcolm moved to take the saddle off the horse’s back. “I cannae help but feel for the laddie’s loss, though.”
“That I can understand for I would feel the loss of such a beast sorely myself. ’Tis a guilt I am willing to live with,” he drawled.
Malcolm lifted the saddle from Elfking’s back and raised his gaze to the walls of the keep. “Jesu,” he breathed, his eyes widening with disbelief.
“God’s teeth, Malcolm,” Parlan snapped when the saddle fell from Malcolm’s hands and barely missed Parlan’s foot. “What ails ye? Ye near to broke my foot.”
“The wee laddie,” Malcolm croaked. “Up there. On the walls.”
All eyes followed Malcolm’s stunned gaze. The slight figure looked even smaller as it skillfully descended the wall of the keep. There was admiration mixed with the shock for, if asked, several of the men watching would have admitted that they would not have dared such a thing. It was not thought cowardly if a man preferred to keep his feet on or very near to good solid ground.
“Is he mad?” ground out Parlan after a hearty bout of cursing.
“I willnae argue the lad’s sanity with ye but I will say ’tis skill that he uses in his lunacy.” Lagan nodded when Parlan shot him a brief, piercing look. “Aye, skill. That is no scrambling descent. I have seen the trick of it before. He kens weel how to use both rope and body.”
“Aye,” Parlan agreed slowly, “that he does. But to escape into a crowded bailey? ’Tis madness.”
“We wouldnae have seen him had Malcolm not chanced to look up.” Lagan chuckled. “’Tis really quite clever.”
“If he doesnae end up splattered upon the ground,” Parlan growled. “This is a cursed annoying business. I have one boy sick and near to death and the other trying to kill himself. Mengue will pay dearly for raising such brats.”
Lagan laughed. “Weel, we should wander over there to greet the lad when he reaches the ground.”
“Oh, aye, I will greet him.” His fear for the dangling boy turned to anger as Parlan strode toward the wall.
“It may be the tales ye just mentioned that drive him to such an act,” Malcolm suggested quickly as he hurried to keep pace.
Struggling against his anger, Parlan finally nodded as he glanced at Malcolm. “’Tis true. I will keep that in mind whilst I am beating the brat.” He looked back toward the small figure gingerly descending the wall just as the wind stole the bonnet the lad wore. “Jesus wept.”
Parlan’s soft curse was repeated by all around him.
In her haste, Aimil had not only failed to secure her bonnet but her hair as well. It tumbled free in glorious thick waves, the wind catching it and tossling its beauty with abandon. The predominant color was a blond so fair it was silver in color but streaked with shades of gold and red that caught and held every beam of light. What Aimil thought a bane, an unruly mass that could not decide upon a color, Parlan and those with him thought beauty itself.
After shock had released its hold, the first thought that entered Parlan’s mind was that he would like to wrap himself up in that hair which was like
